


The Memory of Stone

by A_Farnese



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bandit attack, Character Death, Druids, Gen, Hurt Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a simple investigation into a series of attacks goes horribly awry, Arthur, Merlin, and the knights find themselves in mortal danger. With no hope of rescue, the fall of Camelot seems close at hand. Set after S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was strange, the things a body remembered when it was about to die. Merlin recalled his mother’s voice, close by the firelight as she taught him to read on winter nights, and Gaius bemoaning his absence and all the tasks that would go undone while he was gone. The sweet smell of lavender clinging to Guinevere like an aura. Arthur’s smile in the morning sunlight.

The prince wasn’t smiling now. Arthur was afraid. Merlin saw it in his outstretched hands, heard it in his voice, the faintest of tremors underlying the confident words. He would bet a pound of gold that he was the only one who knew how fine was the thread of control that Arthur clung to. It would be touching, if the prince weren’t bargaining for Merlin’s life.

The oily-voiced blackguard who held him knew nothing of sentiment and didn’t care what Arthur said. The hand over Merlin’s mouth tightened, cranking his head back another few inches. He tried not to whimper, but necks weren’t made to move that way. The icy blade at his neck had sliced through skin. A trickle of blood ran down his throat, warm against cold flesh before it dissolved in the rain.

He remembered . . .

_A Druid woman, grey-haired and bird-boned, had appeared out of the forest mist the night before, her nervous eyes searching the trees.  “Emrys,” she’d hissed, “Thank the gods. I found you. Please just listen, there isn’t much time. Take this.” She had shoved a charmstone into his hand, slicing his fingertip with a tiny blade and smearing the drops of blood onto the stone before whispering words of power._

_“What- what is this? Who are you?”_

_“My name is Aisling. I’m here to aid you so far as I can.” Fear shone in her eyes. “You must remember something, Emrys,” she’d pressed her hands to either side of his face and looked deep into his eyes. Her voice echoed in his head. Mind to mind, they could neither lie nor forget “Remember this, Emrys. The charmstone is bound to the earth, and now to you as well, and the earth remembers. Stone holds the memories of ages within it, keeping it alive long, long past the time that flesh forgets and dissolves. When the time comes- and you will know when it comes- remember that. The earth remembers.”_

_“What is this about? What is this?” He’d held the charmstone on its necklace back to her, but she had closed his fingers around it._

_“It it yours now. You will need it. Put it on, and hide it under your clothes. Don’t take it off.” She gave him a sad smile and began to back away, her gaze flicking to the trees behind him and back again._

_“I don’t understand . . . Why?”_

_“Because you are Emrys.” She gave him a fear-filled smile before vanishing into the forest with a cloaked companion. They were gone when Lancelot appeared, a question on his lips and worry in his eyes. Merlin had waved it off as he tucked the necklace away, the woman’s warning not to take it off still ringing in his ears._

_“Everything’s fine,” he had told the knight._

Fine. It shouldn’t have been fine. His last night on earth should have filled with portents, not spent sleeping under a sky thick with stars or awakening to serenading nightingales. They shouldn’t have spent the morning joking and laughing as they rode home from border. There should have been more warning than a darkening sky turning to rain. But unkind Fate turned her back on them that day when they went to investigate the bandit attacks. When the ambush broke over them, they were outnumbered nearly five to one. Their attackers were skilled- mercenaries from afar instead of the half-witted bandits they might have expected.

“Get to the trees, Merlin!” Arthur had shouted at him. The prince had been holding his own, fighting off two men at once, giving the warlock a chance to break for the trees. Arthur wanted him to hide. Merlin wanted the space to fight. It had worked, too, turning the tide for the knights of Camelot and driving their attackers back. Right up to the moment a blow to his back knocked the breath and the sense out of him.

When he blinked awake, he was on his knees in the clearing with an armored knee in his back, a hand over his mouth pulling his head around, and a blade sharp as a wintry wind pressed to his throat.

He couldn’t hear over the thundering of his own heartbeat or the shallow rasp of his breath. He didn’t need to. Arthur’s negotiations were failing. Merlin saw it in the prince’s eyes. And their attackers had regained their feet, were closing on the knights, preparing to take them all down while they were distracted.

 _‘Take up your swords! Defend yourselves!_ ’ He wanted to warn them. Defeat loomed, and they were too worried about him to notice. He caught Arthur’s gaze through the rain, gave him a pleading look, ‘Draw your sword! I’m not important,” Merlin sent the thought, knowing Arthur would never hear it, still wishing he would, though it would betray his secret. But secrets didn’t matter. Not now. Only Arthur mattered.

And the enemy was almost upon them.

 _'Fight, Arthur, please . . . '_  He begged the prince to see the danger he was in. _'S_ _ave yourself.'_

His captor’s arms tightened around him and the blade pressed harder. His eyes widened. He knew what came next. “When the times comes, remember.” He heard Aisling’s voice again, a whispering echo louder than his own breathing. “The earth remembers.” He knew what he had to do.

Merlin closed his eyes, protecting himself from the hopelessness in Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur from the golden flash in his own. He gathered his awareness deep within, pushed it outward and down, into the ground at his knees where the solid earth would remember that, once, there had been a soul called Merlin. He heard an animal howl from Arthur. His heart quailed at the sound. Then it faded.

The blade’s bite was as cold and as deep as any winter night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur watched Merlin fall. Over and over. There were things he couldn’t unsee, like Merlin’s eyes, terrified and pleading, then closing. He’d finally found something to fear. He had always been so brave. Had been . . . Arthur saw the mercenary’s blade slash across his servant’s throat, then the dark spray of blood. Merlin’s fall, his body spasming as he died. Arthur remembered the last twitch of Merlin’s hand when it splashed into the mud, a final plea for aid from a body beyond help.

His memory was hazy after that. A cudgel to the back of the head ensured his compliance when they tied him to the back of his horse, flipping the hood of a foul-smelling cloak over his face to ward off curious eyes. He drifted in and out then, his heart and head waging a war within, alternately confirming and denying the fact of Merlin’s death.

He had come back to himself in an empty room. Four stone walls, a heavy oaken door, and one narrow window. Three paces wide and four paces long. He must have measured it a hundred times by now. He’d pounded on the door half a dozen times, demanding answers. None had come. His captors had stripped him of his weapons and armor and left him to pace. And remember.

“How long were you planning this?” he whispered to the doorway. “You must have planned this.” Reports of bandits had sent them on a detour on the way home from the border. Lancelot had the description of the men from the last town the bandits had attacked. Elyan found their trail. Bandits. They should have been stupid forest bandits, not the professional mercenaries who sprang an ambush on the Prince of Camelot like he was a half-trained squire.

“No one was supposed to know our route,” Arthur growled as he set off on another circuit of the room. “No one was even supposed to know when we were going home. Someone betrayed us. Someone-” He was shaking, his fury rising to a fever pitch as he threw himself at the door again, hammering at it until his fingers bled. “Who are you!” he shouted. His voice echoed in the little chamber. There was still no answer from without. The place may as well have been a house of ghosts.

Arthur hit the door one last time, leaving a smear of blood on the wood. Something like a sob escaped his lips as he turned away and collapsed in a corner.

He watched Merlin fall again.

Arthur couldn’t even be angry at him. Merlin had finally done as he was told, taking refuge in the trees, just like the prince had ordered. How could he have known the mercenary leader would be hiding in the trees, too? The coward. To threaten the weakest of them- _‘a servant, for God’s sake!’_ \- and then murder him, as though his life was worth nothing. And what of his men? Were they dead, too? Arthur remembered nothing of their arrival, couldn’t remember if they’d been on the road here or not.

He hauled himself upright and looked out the window again. The scene hadn’t changed. Just a farmyard with a sad little fence holding back the forest. The trees beyond were shrouded in mist when it wasn’t raining. It was getting darker. Night was beginning to fall.

The stone was cold when he turned his back to the window. He rested his head against it, let the chill run through him and cool his anger. _‘You were alive this morning, Merlin. You rolled up your blanket and smacked me in the face with it to wake me up. I threw a bucket of water at you and hit Gwaine when you ducked. You were happy this morning. We all were. Why are you dead now?'_

A lonely whimper escaped his throat. He sank to the floor again and clenched his fist, focusing on the sting of his bloodied knuckles and swallowing back any other utterances. Arthur fixed his gaze on the door. He would keep watch on that door- all night, if need be. It was almost fully dark now, but he would keep watch. He didn’t want to sleep, anyway. The longer he kept awake, the longer he could say, _“Merlin was alive this morning”._

 Arthur scratched at the growing scabs on his hand. The pain pricked him back to wakefulness as he watched the unmoving door. He listened for something, anything beyond the steady drizzle of rain the the endless quiet beyond the door.

He watched Merlin fall...

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The rattle of the lock woke him from uneasy dreams. Arthur rolled to his feet as the door opened to let in a crossbowman. Behind him, candle in hand, came the mercenary captain, _‘The murderer.’_ Arthur refrained from launching himself at the man. He couldn’t avenge Merlin with a crossbow bolt in his chest. “Who are you? What do you want?”. He kept his voice steady, but couldn’t keep the undercurrent of rage out of it.

“Your men still live. Choose one,” the captain said. He sounded bored.

“I asked you a question first.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, his eyes cold, almost reptilian as he regarded the prince. “Arrogant, stubborn, and rude. You’re living up to your reputation, Arthur Pendragon. But I suppose it’s no skin off my back to answer. Who I am, I will not say. It is said that dead men tell no tales, but I have seen the wider world and know that for a lie. Dead men can speak, and I don’t intend to give them my name.” The captain took another step into the room. The candle wavered crazily for a moment, throwing his eyes into deep shadow. “What I want is inconsequential. It is my employer’s wishes that are key here.”

Arthur kept very still. “And who is your employer?”

“A useful question at last.” The captain’s smile was devoid of any warmth. “Good King Odin wants your head on a spike, and I am going to bring it to him. Now. As I was saying. Your knights still live. Choose one of them.”

“Why?”

“I only need one of them to carry your body back to your father, and I abhor leaving enemies alive behind me.”

“Is that why you murdered my servant? Was he your enemy?” Arthur asked evenly, marveling at his own control.

“The boy in the clearing? No. He was no enemy of mine. He was a tool, nothing more. I am a practical man, and I use the tools that are put in my way. All my intelligence said you had an almost unnatural affinity for the boy.” The captain’s eyes roamed the length of Arthur’s body, his lips twitching into a leer that vanished as soon as he locked gazes with the prince again. “‘Slay his knights, and Prince Arthur will fight to the death’, I’d heard. ‘Slay the servant, and the mighty Arthur will lose all reason’. The tool fell into my hands, so I used it.”

The memory of Merlin’s eyes, wide and full of terror in his last moments, flashed through Arthur’s mind. “You are a coward,” he rumbled through gritted teeth.

“I am a practical man, Arthur Pendragon. Men of action often confuse practicality with cowardice. They claim that men like me have no value for life.” The candlelight glinted in the captain’s eyes. “But you and yours, your vaunted knights, value life no more highly than I do. You claim that your kills are made for the security of the realm, but your soul is steeped in as much blood as mine. The only difference between us is that I know what I am. A killer. You pretend to be something otherwise. But I am done with you now. If you will not choose which of your knights will live, then I will.” The captain turned to go, then stopped and glanced back, silhouetted by candlight. “There is another difference between us. Tomorrow night I will still be alive, and you will be dead.” He walked out, the crossbowman following, never turning his back to the prince until the door closed and cloaked the room in darkness again.

Odin… Arthur fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands. How much strife could be traced back to that foolish prince’s challenge? Would this mark the end of it, or would Odin push on until Camelot lay in ruins? Uther was ill and unlikely to recover. Morgana’s whereabouts were unknown. If Arthur died tomorrow, who would take the throne? Who would keep the kingdom from falling?

He curled a hand into a fist and beat at the floor, tearing open his already bloodied knuckles. All the plans he could conjure in his head were useless. If the mercenaries had the strength to overwhelm and imprison his knights, then they had the strength to kill them all. And Merlin was already dead, left for the animals in the mud of a lonely clearing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as though anyone could hear him in the darkness. Tears welled in his eyes for all that should not have been and everything that might have been, all of it now burning away into ashes in Arthur’s imagination. All of it. Such a waste. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry….”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Emrys.”

Her voice was far, far away. Too far away. And he was cold. Too cold to respond, too…

_“I died.”_

“Emrys,” the voice was insistent. “Come back. Your time in this world is not yet over. Come back, Emrys. Arthur is in danger.”

 _“Arthur!”_  He gasped. The air burned his throat like acid. He tried to cry out with the pain, but it turned into a mewling scrape between tearing coughs. Arms wrapped around him, rocking him gently, loaning him warmth enough to tell him he was alive. Fingers brushed over his hair, soft as a spring breeze. He heard the quick-step beat of her heart, felt his own stutter over itself, catch, and start again, matching its beat to hers. The susurrus of her breath, steady as the earth, taught him the rhythm of breathing.

She shifted, pulled away from him. “Emrys? Are you here? Open your eyes…”

She sounded afraid, so he opened his eyes to reassure her.

“Oh… Thank the gods!” she breathed. “I feared it wouldn’t work. I thought we’d lost you forever. No, don’t talk.” She brushed a finger over his lips, silencing his questions before he could ask them. “Rest now. We can talk later. Barris? We must get him back to the cave. Get him dry and warm again.” A man appeared above them. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, deep with sorrow.

“What…?”

“Shhh, Emrys. Not now. We will speak when you’ve rested.” The man- Barris- gathered him up, lifting him out of the cold and the wet. She rested warm fingers against his forehead. Sleep, heavy and quiet, draped over him.

 

* * *

 

It was warm when Merlin woke, nestled amongst thick blankets. A few feet away, a fire was dying into a pile of glowing embers and a spare handful of tallow candles lent the space a pale glow. He took a slow, deep breath then swallowed against the dryness in his throat. It ached, but it was tolerable. Someone hummed a tuneless melody and he pried his eyes open to find the singer. It was the bird-boned woman from the forest. “Aisling?” he rasped.

She looked up sharply, then smiled. “You’re awake. How do you feel?” Aisling knelt beside him and laid a hand on his forehead. “No fever, and your color’s returning.”

“Throat hurts,” Merlin whispered. “I’m thirsty.”

“That can be remedied.” She helped him sit up and tucked the blankets around him him as he sipped a cup of water. “You have questions, I’m sure. I’ll spare you the asking and tell you what I know.” Aisling smiled, patting at her wiry gray hair with gnarled fingers. “I am a Druid and a healer with a small gift of the Sight. One week ago, I saw that you and Arthur Pendragon would be placed in terrible danger. My son, Barris, and I did what we could, but we could not stop them. I cannot fight, and he was just one against many.” Aisling touched the charmstone on its cord around Merlin’s neck. “Then I remembered this. My teacher gave it to me when I was a girl, as his teacher gave it to him. All the way back, they said, to Taliesin himself. I was told to keep it always, that I would know when it was needed. For years I doubted it, but when I saw you in the forest, Emrys, I knew. I knew what I had to do, and I thank all the gods I was strong enough.”

“For what?” Merlin said. The water eased his throat, but past the skin-deep warmth of the fire, there was a chill in his bones no blanket could soothe.

“To heal your body and call your spirit back from the earth,” she said. He stared back at her, uncomprehending. She cupped his cheek with a thin hand. “Oh, Emrys. There is so much even you don’t know about yourself. I wish I could say with certainty, why this worked for you where it wouldn’t have for anyone else. I could venture a guess that the earth conspires to keep you alive, but… I don’t know.”

Merlin stared into the dying flames, reaching up with shaking fingers to touch his throat where the blade had cut. The skin felt smooth and new. It would hardly leave a scar. “You’re very skilled,” he said. Aisling smiled in answer. “What of Arthur? The knights? What happened to them?”

“They were all alive, when last I saw them,” a deep voice answered. The man, Barris, moved out of a shadow. “They took them to a farmstead less than a league from here. They took the Pendragon into the house, and locked the rest into some sort of cellar in a hillside. Half their force left before sunset, leaving some fifteen men behind. And their leader. I don’t know their plans, though. I couldn’t get close enough.”

“Whatever their plans are, they can’t be good. I have to go. I have to find Arthur.” Merlin pushed the blankets away and stumbled up, making it halfway to his feet before his vision greyed and narrowed. Hands guided him down and tucked the blankets around him again.

“We’ll go soon enough. But the night is black, and it’s raining too hard to travel safely. Your attackers won’t move until after dawn. I have Seen this, Emrys. Do you believe me?” He looked deep into Aisling’s eyes and saw truth there. He nodded. “It’s just after midnight now. We will set out well before dawn. For now, though, you must rest.” Before he could say another word, she laid a hand on his brow and sent him back into sleep.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The farmhouse was a solid affair, built out of the same gray stone that littered the hillsides. It had, perhaps, three small rooms and a fence behind it. A barn overflowing with horses stood across from a door leading into a hillside- probably the cellar where the knights were imprisoned. Half a dozen tents were laid out in two neat rows. No one stirred in the pre-dawn darkness, adding to the eerie sense of its being haunted by nascent ghosts.

There was a muffled footstep. Merlin turned to find Barris appearing out of the mist. “I’ve dealt with the sentries. There were four of them. That leaves twelve for us to deal with.” Merlin gave the man a long look. Dealt with. He was certain the Druid hadn’t simply put those men to sleep. Some Druids were peaceful. Others were not.

“Twelve,” Merlin whispered, suddenly nauseous. He clutched at the heavy gray cloak Aisling had given him and bowed his head. They expected him to ‘deal with’ the remaining mercenaries. _‘It’s for Arthur’s sake. For the knights. They’ll die if I don’t do this_.' He swallowed hard against the ache in his throat.

“Emrys?” Aisling’s hand brushed against his forehead. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Merlin breathed. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to kill these men. But if I don’t act, Arthur will die, and the knights, too. I can’t let that happen, no matter the cost to me.” He shivered. The cold and weariness from his injury didn’t weigh him down nearly as much as the thought of what he was about to do. He glanced toward the farmyard. The first signs of life were stirring within the camp. “We have to leave quickly when this is done. Arthur can’t know. Not about me, and not about you. We’ll catch up to them later.”

Aisling nodded and clutched his hand. “Be careful, Emrys. You are strong, but there are many of them. The charmstone’s power is ended. If you die here, there is nothing to bring you back again.”

“Don’t worry.” Merlin laid a gentle kiss on her fingers. “I don’t intend to die twice.” He stepped away, pulling his hood low over his face. Barris did the same.

The mist seemed to follow them from the safety of the trees, lending the two gray figures an unearthly quality, as if they were ghosts instead of men walking into the midst of the mercenary camp. The alarm sounded before they reached the tents, and soon enough they were surrounded by a ring of seven drawn swords. _‘Seven swordsmen, four men standing by, and the captain…?’_ One of the watchers called for him.

Merlin bit back a gasp when the captain walked out of the house. He’d hardly seen him, but he would know the man anywhere. How could you forget the presence of your own murderer? _“Hold fast, Emrys. The plan is sound._ ” Barris’s voice echoed in Merlin’s mind.

“Who are you?” The captain asked, his voice languid and unconcerned. “Are you spirits, to be so brave and walk into my camp? Or just fools?”

Merlin took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Just a dead man come back to see justice done.” He raised his head enough for the captain to see his face.

The captain’s eyes widened. Merlin didn’t miss the flash of fear before a wry smile split the man’s face. “Dead men tell no tales, indeed. And corpses aren’t supposed to rise in these lands. What are you then? The serving boy’s fool brother? If you’re so willing to die, I can take your head off when I’m done executing your prince. Or before, perhaps, so he can see the price of courage. What do you intend to do, anyway? You don’t even have a sword.”

_'They’re going to kill Arthur…'_  Merlin’s fear drained away. Whatever motives drove these men, be it gold or power, the warlock suddenly saw how they had wasted their lives chasing such illusory rewards. They were almost pitiable. Except that they had threatened Arthur. He looked the captain in the eye as a slow anger built within him. “I don’t need one.”

The captain smirked. “Brave words, boy. How terrible that they will be your last. Kill them both,” he said, slashing at the air with an imperious gesture. The swordsmen stepped forward as one, raising their blades for the killing strokes that would never fall.

Time slowed around Merlin. A wave of power began building within like a hurricane, pushing against his mind, fueled by a power far older and stronger than his own small will. It howled through his blood, dancing through his bones like like lightning, rising faster than the wind off a storm. A cloudburst of raw force, it swept silently over the camp, rattling the buildings and shaking the trees until it dissipated in the hills, its passage marked by a distant rumbling like thunder. Merlin fell to his knees, shivering as the remaining power bled out of him, retreating back into the earth where it had come from.

Barris was still standing. The mercenaries were not. To a one, they’d been flung backward in a messy ring, their bodies broken by the sheer force of the warlock’s will blended with the power loaned to him by the earth itself. _‘I did that...’_ He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.

“Emrys?” Barris’s hands cradled his face. Merlin’s vision blurred when he looked up at the Druid. He blinked the tears away.

“I’m all right. At least, I will be. Give me a moment.” The warlock clutched at Barris’s arm, leaning against him as they stood. “We need to find Arthur.”

“He’s in the house. The knights are in there.” Barris pointed toward the door in the hills. “Give yourself a moment to recover, Emrys. And keep your hood up.” The older man almost smiled as he flicked the edge of Merlin’s hood back over his brow. “I’ll see to the knights. You find Arthur, open the lock, and leave as quickly as you can. Unless you’ve changed your mind about telling him who you are?”

“No,” Merlin replied. “Too much has happened of late. The time isn’t right.”

“Someday,” Barris said. “Someday, we will all be free to  be just who we are. Until then, we live as shadows. Are you ready?” Merlin nodded. “Then let’s go.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The door was unlocked. Arthur had heard it rattle earlier, had prepared himself to be taken to his execution, but it didn’t open. He waited. When the door remained closed he pushed it open without effort and cautiously stepped into a larger room. There were signs the someone had been living here, but now they were gone. _'No, not just gone. Dead.'_

It was a feeling that hung in the air, a still sullenness that weighed on the mind, as though the place had forgotten how to breathe, had forgotten what air was to begin with. Arthur had been in places like this before, after straying off paths that shouldn’t have been left. Places like this belonged to the dead and the unquiet spirits they left behind.

He crossed to a window. Outside, the mist shrouded the farmyard in layers of grey, turning the trees into hulking shapes and narrowing the boundaries of the world to what lay just beyond the yard.

Something moved at the edge. A slender, hooded figure paused as though it felt Arthur’s eyes upon it. It turned. Arthur squinted to try to see who- or what- it was, but where the face should have been, there was only a shadow. Twin sparks of gold flashed beneath the hood, and the mist thickened. When it cleared the figure had gone, vanishing like the memory of a dream.

“Arthur!”

He jumped at the sound, then stood straight and looked back out the window. “Leon!” he called, turning on a heel and keeping his pace just this side of dignified as he walked out the door. His knights were there. All five with various injuries, but all were undeniably alive. “You’re all right? I heard a commotion earlier, I thought- I thought they’d killed you. Their captain said…” he trailed off, following the direction of their gazes to a field of corpses. A dozen or so men clad in foreign armor lay dead in a messy ring. The captain lay among them with his sword still sheathed, his eyes wide. Surprised. Death had taken him as suddenly as he had dealt it to Merlin.

“There are no tracks. No footprints anywhere,” Elyan said. “It’s like something flew in, snapped their necks, and flew away again.”

“It’s no less than they deserved, after what they did to Merlin...” Gwaine sucked a breath in and looked away.

“They got what they earned. They were going to kill us. Odin hired them to bring my head back to him, and they had no use for you,” Arthur said. “We should burn the bodies. We shouldn’t leave them for the animals.”

“They left Merlin for the animals,” Gwaine spat. “They left him in the mud where he fell. No thought for common decency, no respect for the dead. Why shouldn’t we return the favor?”

“Because we’re supposed to be better than that, Gwaine,” Arthur said, his voice tight. He remembered what the mercenary captain had said- _‘Your soul is steeped in as much blood as mine’_. He shook his head. “If we can’t be good, then we should do good. Merlin taught me that, and I won’t dishonor his memory by denying it now. We will not leave these men for the animals. When we’re done here, we’ll ride back to the clearing where-” his voice threatened to break. “We’ll go back to the clearing, we’ll find him, and we’ll take him home.” He steadily looked each knight in the eye, waiting until every last one of them nodded. “All right, then. Let’s find our things and get to it.”

 

* * *

 

It was midday when they returned to the fateful clearing. The signs of their battle had been washed away by the rain. It was peaceful again. There were even a few birds trying to brighten the gloom with their songs.

But there was no sign of Merlin. No tracks led out of the clearing, and no tracks led into it. It was as if the same creature Elyan had speculated on earlier had flown in, taken Merlin’s body up, and disappeared.

They searched for hours, turning over every rock or log large enough to hide a body, rifling through piles of leaves and clumps of grass, startling a brace of pheasants out of a shrub and stirring up the forest soil. It sent the fresh scent of young plants into the breeze, clearing the air of the stench of mouldering leaves. But they found nothing of Merlin. No bits of clothing, no blood, no… parts left behind. As the afternoon light dimmed toward evening, even Arthur had to give up. “Let’s go,” he said at last, “We need to find shelter before nightfall. I think I remember an overhang back up the way we first came.”

The knights were slow to obey, but Arthur was the last to leave, kneeling in the patch of rusty earth where Merlin had fallen. He touched the soil reverently. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you better. I’m sorry I’m going home without you. But mostly-” he swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, “mostly, I’m sorry I wasn’t as good of a man as you always believed I was. Perhaps if I were, you’d still be alive. Forgive me.”

A breeze like a sigh whispered through the trees, cooling the muggy air and clearing away the mist. Arthur took it as a sign. He gave the sky a watery smile, then climbed into the saddle and turned his horse toward home.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

It took all his strength to set one foot in front of the other. Between the power he had used to save and then free Arthur and his recovery from… death… Merlin’s head was spinning. He’d disappeared their tracks for the first mile until his vision grayed out. Then he woke up, flat on his back on the forest floor with a wide-eyed Aisling staring back at him. After that, they asked nothing more than for him to stay upright. Barris made their tracks disappear.

They paused by a stream near midday, using the hollow under an ancient oak for shelter as Arthur and the knights rode past. Twenty and more years of hiding left the Druids unwilling to face anyone in a red cloak, and Merlin was too weary to protest. He spent most of the afternoon asleep, waking an hour or two before sunset to a meal of berries and fish. This time, he had the energy to protest their caution. “They’re on horseback. We’re on foot, and it’s a long way back to Camelot. You have my endless gratitude for all you’ve done for me, but….”

“You don’t want to be parted from Arthur longer than you have to be. I understand.” Aisling gave him a tight smile. “We’ll pack our things and go as soon as we can.” His eyes went distant, and somehow Merlin knew she was speaking, mind to mind, with her son. “Barris is scouting. He found Arthur and the others in a cave not far from here. I want to wait until he comes back.” She shot him an arch look at his raised eyebrow. “I can’t carry you if you fall again.”

Merlin had to concede the point. He settled back and pulled his cloak tighter around himself, his fingers absently tracing the traces of the wound on his neck. “I killed a dozen men today,” he said. “They would have killed Arthur and the others. And me, but... still. I killed a dozen men today.”

“And they rest uneasily in your mind?”

“Shouldn’t they?” Merlin found no answers in the depths of her eyes, just a quiet, long sorrow.

“Perhaps if we lived in a different time or in a better world, we would all be innocent, Emrys,” Aisling said. “Perhaps that is the golden world you and Arthur will build.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said.

“No, it’s not. But I have no answers for you. My conscience is no clearer than yours.” But what caused that stain, she would not say. Aisling hardly said a word as she packed her meager possessions.

A light rain was falling when Barris returned to lead them to Arthur’s camp. The squelching mud pulled at their feet, but Merlin managed not to fall, though he had to admit that Barris’s strong hand at his elbow helped. They walked the two miles in near silence, with only the rain and singing birds to distract them. Finally, as sunset neared and the mist began building, Barris brought them to a halt. “This is where we part ways, Emrys. Over this rise, then down and between the guardian oaks. Arthur’s camp is there. Will you make it?”

“When we’re this close?” Merlin gave the Druid a tired smile. “I’d crawl the rest of the way if I had to. I don’t know how to thank you enough- both of you. If not for you, I’d be dead, and likely Arthur, too. I owe you everything. Camelot owes you everything. How could we possibly repay you?”

“It was enough to be of service, Emrys. Fate guided us here, as it guides you. Serve him well, and help him built that golden future we all dream of. That will be payment enough.” Aisling rolled to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-bye, Emrys. Be well.”

“Good-bye,” he said, nodding to Barris as the man clapped his shoulder in farewell. Merlin watched them go until they disappeared into the mist, leaving his life the same way they had entered it. Then he turned and made his slow way over the rise, under the dripping trees, and between the guardian oaks. He found the camp before he realized it, the shadow of an overhanging rock yawning wide before him. The smoke of a small campfire reached his nose in the same moment his foot found an errant stick. The snap of its breaking was loud against the forest’s quiet, and six heads snapped around as one to find the intruder.

Merlin’s eyes searched among the others until he found Arthur, healthy and whole, and shocked to the core. He took half a hesitant step forward and drew in a wavering breath. “Arthur?”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“How? How is this possible?” Arthur studied Merlin as though he had never seen him before, taking in the shadows under his servant’s eyes and the ghostly pallor of his skin. Cloaked in grey and surrounded by the thickening fog of the gloaming, he was a mere shadow of himself. But the thin shoulders under Arthur’s hands were solid enough.

“Druids. There were Druids. In the clearing, I-” Merlin broke off, licked his chapped lips and took a calming breath. “When I woke up, there were two of them. A healer- a powerful healer- and her son. They- I don’t know how. I don’t know if even she knew how she did it.” His hand came up, fingers absently tracing the pattern carved into a flat grey stone on a cord about his neck.

“Did this have something to do with it?” Arthur touched the stone. He wasn’t sure what he expected to feel, but all that met his fingertips was a cold, dead stone.

Merlin nodded. “She called it a charmstone. Said its power was broken. They’re gone now, too. I don’t know where.”

“Why?” Arthur’s gaze flicked around to the knights, whose expressions ranged from Percival’s confused shock to Lancelot’s concerned awe. He looked back at Merlin. “Why would the Druids help a servant of Camelot?”

Merlin’s hand shook as he clutched at his cloak. His pupils expanded within the blue of his eyes, adding to the confusion written across his face. “I don’t-”. His knees buckled.

Lancelot caught Merlin’s arm, and he and Arthur guided the servant to the ground. Merlin slumped against the prince, eyes hooded, his breathing rabbit-quick. “Maybe they were just tired of seeing innocent blood being spilled,” the dark-eyed knight said as he pressed gentle fingers against Merlin’s throat, just above the pink, healing skin over the once-fatal wound. “Merlin?” Lancelot murmured.

“‘m fine,” was the slurred response.

Arthur chuckled. “Sure you are. And I’m a pretty lady.” Merlin made a noise that might have been a laugh. “I suppose the questions can wait. Come on, then. Let’s get you out of the rain.” They wrapped him in blankets and set him down by the fire, shoving a spoon and a bowl of stew in his hands, hardly letting him eat as they asked if he needed this thing or that. Was he warm enough? Was he too warm? Did he want anything? Anything at all? Too weary to resist their ministrations, Merlin let them fuss, his color and smile returning together even as exhaustion dragged him off to sleep. But he revealed nothing more about the Druids who saved him.

 It was near midnight, when the fire was burning low and a raucous choir of nighttime insects filled the air with their midsummer songs, that Lancelot sat down next to Arthur. The rest of the knights had long since fallen asleep, the strain of the day and their injuries quickly draining their energy. Merlin had hardly stirred, save for his eyes under closed lids, flickering with whatever strange visions lurked in his dreams.

“What’s in your mind?”  Lancelot asked. He poked at the embers, sending sparks up into the air, lighting Merlin’s face with an angelic glow.

“I don’t know.” Arthur rubbed his gritty eyes. “Druids, he says. Druids healed him. I could believe that, but Lancelot, he was dead. You saw what happened. You saw him fall. I still see it happen every time I close my eyes.” He shook his head as though that would displace the memories, focusing instead on his servant’s face and the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders. “I’ve heard of Druidic healers, but… bringing a man back from the dead? How can that even happen?”

“Are you asking me to explain the mysteries of magic?” Lancelot asked archly. “Because I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

“Right.” Arthur sighed. “But why? Beyond what they did for Merlin, they helped us, too. I think they killed those mercenaries and freed us. I saw one of them this morning, by the trees before he fled. I saw the glow of his eyes, but I couldn’t see his face. He saved our lives.” His gaze traveled over the dark shapes of the the sleeping knights. “Why would Druids, of all people, go out of their way to help the Knights of Camelot?”

“Maybe they want to show you that magic can be a force for good, and that it’s not all evil. Perhaps, like Merlin, they believe that you’ll bring about a better world when you’re king. Or,” Lancelot shrugged, “Maybe I’m just a maudlin fool who’s as much of a clotpole as Merlin’s always saying you are. But I can tell you what I wouldn’t do right now.” Lancelot’s eyes shone in the waning firelight.

“What’s that?”

Lancelot smiled. “I wouldn’t look a gift miracle in the mouth. Every mistake we made yesterday, every move we misjudged- it’s like it was all undone. The world was remade, just a little, for our sakes. Now we have another chance to prove our worth to him.”

“You spend your days trying to prove yourself to a servant?” Arthur asked.

“As much as you do. Or did you not mean what you said this morning?”

The prince’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut again, a wry grin twisting his lips. “Undone by my own words. You’re right, but if you ever breathe a word of this to him, I’ll have you in the stocks for a month.” Arthur tried to put his serious face on, but Lancelot’s snort of laughter broke it. “Fine, then. No stocks. I’ll just deny this conversation ever happened.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I know it doesn’t,” Arthur said, waving the knight away. “Go on and get some rest. I’ll take the rest of the watch. My mind’s too full to let me sleep.” Lancelot gave him a long look, then nodded and walked across the camp. There was a rustling as he settled down, and then quiet.

Arthur sighed and poked at the fire, thinking. How? Why? Would those two questions ever be answered to his satisfaction, or would he forever wonder at the circumstances? He lifted his gaze to find Merlin still asleep. Still alive. _Don’t look a gift miracle in the mouth._ Wise enough words for a day full of questions with no answers. “All right, then,” he whispered to his sleeping servant, “I’ll not ask any more questions you can’t answer. Just don’t put me through something like this again. Do that, and I promise I’ll do my best to be the kind of man you seem to think I am.” Merlin didn’t stir, but to Arthur, the deal was set in stone.

He walked to the edge of the camp. The clouds had cleared away, revealing patches of the night sky above. He stood quietly for a time, pondering stars and servants and strange miracles. And for a while, Arthur let himself believe that all was right with the world.

 

 


End file.
